Antebellum
by SavvyEnigma
Summary: AU When Sam used the Allspark to kill Megatron, he was given a choice: change the past or save the future. He chose to change the past, at the loss of everything he knew on Earth, and saved thousands of lives by sacrificing his own to become Altor Prime.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor am I making any profit from this.

Credits: A big thank you to dglsprincess105 for allowing me to borrow her idea. This story was inspired by her story, All in the Family. And yes, I know these are two very different stories, but I asked her a long time ago if I could borrow Sam as a caretaker to the Autobots-Decepticons-turned-sparklings, and that idea morphed into this one. dglsprincess105 is my inspiration, and the credit goes to her.

* * *

><p>The second after he shoved the Cube into Megatron's spark, he was hit with a crippling wave of light and pain, but he held on. He didn't know if it had been hours or seconds that had passed—all he knew was pain and determination, refusal to let go.<p>

Then, through the blinding agony, images started forming in front of his eyes. He knew instantly who each bot was, even though he'd never seen some of them.

Megatron as a sparkling, being forced into combat training while Optimus bent over datapads, studying history, both reluctant. Starscream, facing the Council, only to be turned away. A young Soundwave, clutching at his helm in an effort to get rid of the voices. Shockwave, flinching away from the scientists. Bumblebee, sparked into a war. Bluestreak, trapped and terrified in the ruins of his home. Prowl being thrown across the room by his creator, Barricade rushing to his side and trying to stop the flow of Energon. Ironhide, struggling to get through the Academy with failing grades as he tried to support his sick parents. The anguish in Ratchet's optics the first time he lost a patient to the war.

The images came faster and faster, seamlessly flowing into each other. He saw the lives of dozens of bots; saw what drove them into starting or joining the war.

He saw the future, the Fallen standing on the top of the Great Pyramid, the Matrix of Leadership in hand. Optimus dying, his own death at the hands of Megatron before the Dynasty of Primes brought him back to save Optimus. His face and that of the Fallen broadcasted around the world, making him a wanted fugitive. He saw himself proposing to Mikaela after everything was finished, and her saying yes. He saw her walking down the aisle on their wedding day, more beautiful than ever.

A voice suddenly sounded in his head, not words, but more of the meaning of the words. _Would you change this? Would you change the past, at the cost of the future?_

Sam hovered for a moment, the physical anguish pounding through his body nothing compared to the mental agony. For one split instant, he stood on the brink. But he'd already made his choice the instant he saw the past.

Lips trembling with the weight of the word, he said, "Yes."

The next instant, everything around him disappeared. For what seemed like an eternity, he hovered on the edge of _something_, an utter nothingness that made fear spike through his body. He got the feeling that if he tried screaming, it wouldn't make a sound.

Then the voice returned. _Welcome, _and he was falling, and falling, and there was nothing to catch him and, _to the Ranks of the Primes,_ for some strange reason, he was no longer afraid, _Altor, Protector of Cybertron,_ even though the last thing he knew was crashing through an invisible barrier and hitting something hard and metal.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor am I making any profit from this.

Credits: A big thank you to dglsprincess105 for allowing me to borrow her idea. This story was inspired by her story, All in the Family. And yes, I know these are two very different stories, but I asked her a long time ago if I could borrow Sam as a caretaker to the Autobots-Decepticons-turned-sparklings, and that idea morphed into this one. dglsprincess105 is my inspiration, and the credit goes to her.

_**Minor edits made, 10/11/2012**_

_**Minor edits made July 6, 2013**_

* * *

><p>Sam groaned as he slowly came to consciousness, watching as blue glyphs scrolled across his vision. He knew his eyes were closed, but they were still there, giving him information about different systems in his body. That was the first hint that something was different—not necessarily wrong, just different. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes—or rather, onlined his optics according to schematics—was that his hand was made out of metal. Normally, Sam would have freaked, but this time he knew he didn't have the time. He took a moment to calm down, then looked up, realizing that he was in an alley somewhere, on Cybertron. It had to be Cybertron because the architecture of the metal towers and buildings around him did not belong on Earth.<p>

Somewhat shakily, he stood to his feet—peds, he corrected himself—and stumbled over to the reflective surface of a somewhat unmarred wall. It felt strange, staring at a Cybertronian instead of a human reflection, and he almost didn't believe he was looking at himself until he remembered the glyphs scrolling across his vision—they'd become smaller, fitting into a small box in the corner of his vision, like minimizing a window on a computer screen.

He was tall, nearly the same height as Optimus, with a retractable battle mask and a black visor that hid bright green optics. His frame, colored black with a few green and blue streaks, was designed something like Optimus's, except sleeker and more streamlined, and he had a tail and thrusters on his heels, which, combined with the wings and tail threw him off-balance. _Wings. He had wings._ That discovery made him slightly giddy. He got to _fly_! ...Although he would probably suck at it.

An hour later after experimenting, he learned he could retract and extend both tail and wings, and that his alt-mode was a Cybertronian vehicle that partly resembled a cross between a Lamborghini or another kind of sports car and a fighter jet. It was as sleek and streamlined as he'd been in bipedal mode, and even more so. It was slung low to the ground, but that wasn't a problem, as he could hover. When he was comfortable with himself in both alt and bipedal mode, and had skimmed through the knowledge about Cybertron that he mysteriously found in his memory, he cautiously left the alley.

Instantly, he was hit by how _familiar_ it seemed to him. Cybertronians were walking, driving, and flying past, all of them different from one another in frame, color, and style. If it weren't for the fact that they were giant, sentient, alien robots, he could have pretended that he was back on Earth.

_Okay,_ Sam took a deep breath—not that he needed to breathe—and straightened determinedly. _No time for a panic attack, gotta find somewhere to live...and I probably need to find a job. After that, find Optimus or Megatron or one of the others and figure out a way to stop this mess from ever happening._ He grimaced, taking in the masses of bots. _Primus, help me, this is going to be a lot harder than I thought._


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor am I making any profit from this.

Credits: A big thank you to dglsprincess105 for allowing me to borrow her idea. This story was inspired by her story, All in the Family. And yes, I know these are two very different stories, but I asked her a long time ago if I could borrow Sam as a caretaker to the Autobots-Decepticons-turned-sparklings, and that idea morphed into this one. dglsprincess105 is my inspiration, and the credit goes to her.

I do not own the list of Cybertronian times, and much of the stuff about Cybertronian culture and whatnot was inspired by dozens of other Transformers stories.

I do, however, own the poem/song, so please don't borrow/copy without permission.

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds_  
>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

_Mechanometer_ - 1 meter_  
>Hic<em> - 1 kilometer

* * *

><p><em>Holding out for a hero,<em>

_I'm holding out for a hero._

_Someone to come to my rescue,_

_Someone to save the day._

_.  
><em>

_I'm holding out for a hero,_

_But I can't hold on long,_

_'Cause this ain't something_

_I can run from on my own._

_.  
><em>

_I can't see a way out,_

_I can't see an end._

_But I'm holding out for a hero,_

_'Cause that's all I can do._

_.  
><em>

_I'm holding out for a hero,_

_Lookin' for someone_

_To glance in my direction_

_And actually see that I'm here._

_.  
><em>

_I'm here in the dark, I'm screaming_

_For someone to rescue me._

_I'm alone in the dark and screaming_

_For someone to recognize me._

_.  
><em>

_I'm holding out for a hero,_

_'Cause that's all that I can do._

_I'm holding out for a hero._

_Someone, please rescue me._

* * *

><p><em>He distantly remembered a time when they'd been happy, before their other creator had died. But he'd been living in this nightmare for so long, he'd forgotten what it was like to smile—really smile, and mean it.<em>

_Now he was frantically trying to keep his little brother alive. He'd become so skilled at patching up and hiding wounds that it made him sick. But there was nothing else he could do—he couldn't run, because that would mean abandoning his brother. He couldn't care for his brother out on the streets, and he knew no one would believe him if he told them what was happening at home. He could see nowhere to go, no way to escape._

_So he prayed. He prayed for hours, begging, hoping, pleading, for someone to save them, for someone to believe him._

_But no one did._

* * *

><p><em>It was his dream, his unspoken, forbidden passion. It was everywhere, the inspiration, the itch to turn the chaos of noise into something beautiful. His creators despised it, pulling him away whenever they heard it. They said it was an abomination, but he wondered how something so wonderful could be so wrong.<em>

_He asked that question once. He never mentioned it again._

_It became his secret; he'd slip away when they were in recharge or out on business, go down to the bars, and listen._

_To his creators, it was a disgrace and a plague that needed to be wiped from the face of Cybertron forever. To him, music was an escape, an unspoken desire he could never fulfill. But he could always dream._

* * *

><p><em>There was no way out. He was destined to forever be their pet. No one was going to save him, he knew that. He'd given up on hope a long time ago, even if he still dreamed of what the world outside was like. He knew it existed, he'd heard his "creators" speaking of it occasionally, and logically, there had to be somewhere for them to go once they were done with him. But dreaming was useless, and eventually he forgot about feeling anything he might have been able to feel other than fear, resignation, and pain.<em>

_What he didn't know was that, while he had abandoned all hope of ever leaving, hope hadn't abandoned him._

* * *

><p><em>Voices, memories, thoughts, feelings, emotions . . .<em>

_All of it, flooding his mind at once, never ceasing, never relenting in its pounding agony._

_No one understood. No one could make it go away._

_So he'd left, running from the voices that made him want to claw out his own audios. He ran for what seemed like forever, but he couldn't outrun it._

_He was slowly being driven to the brink of insanity, and there was nothing to stop it._

* * *

><p>Sam found a place to live in a small, one room apartment that mostly consisted of a recharge berth, storage units, and a small wash racks, and temporary work at the shipping docks in Iacon, loading cargo onto the transports from the warehouses. His boss and co-workers, who had at first been skeptical, gradually warmed up to him when they saw he pulled his own weight and wasn't prone to complaining.<p>

When he got off shift he took to wandering around the city, getting used to his new body. It was interesting how many bots mistook him for a noble, and he did little to dissuade them of their initial impressions. He merely acted like himself, or rather, a Cybertronian version of himself.

It was during one of these walks that he met a mech named Mock in one of the poorer sectors of Iacon, after the smaller mech had tried pick-pocketing his subspace. Sam had easily stopped him, saying "You only had to ask," then, instead of turning him over to the Enforcers, offered to take him out for Energon. Mock had initially been suspicious and extremely wary, but Sam had won the Gamma over with easy, intelligent conversation and a relaxed air.

The Allspark had taught Sam that Cybertron had a very rigid social "class" ranking. The Superior Elite were mechs like the Primes, the leaders and rulers of Cybertron, the highest class there was. Next were the Alphas, the nobles. After that were the Betas, bots like medics, Enforcers, scientists, and other important positions that were not among the nobility. Delta was the working class, considered the lowest ranking except for Gamma. If you were a Gamma you were the scum of society who lived in the slums of Cybertron and did the sort of work no one else would do. There were strict boundaries between the classes, and Sam wanted to change that.

The one thing that caught Sam completely off guard about Cybertronians was that there were no genders. There were differences between frame types, but unlike humans, there were no "males" and "females." He'd learned that "mechs," like Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Ironhide, and Ratchet, were only classified as mechs because of their frame types, which were heavier builds, and a single line of coding. "Femmes" generally had slimmer, more flexible builds, and didn't have the line of code that a mech had. The code was essentially extra programming, the only real difference between frame types, and only a medic could truly see the difference. A mech could have a femme's frame, and vice versa, and a femme was also capable of getting a medic to program the code into their frames just like a mech was capable of deleting the code. Both mechs and femmes were capable of creating new sparks, either by splitting a piece off their own spark, or merging sparks with another bot so that the excess energy formed another spark, which was only capable of happening if the two sparks were compatible or joined by a bond, but a lot of the time sparklings were created by the Allspark.

There were many different types of bonds. Spark-bonds were created by partners, and once you were bonded the bond could only break if one partner spark terminated, which would eventually lead to the other partner's termination as well. Sparkmates were, in human terms, soul mates. Then there was the creator-creation bond, a link between creators, Cybertronian "parents" and their sparkling, Cybertronian "children." There were bonds between siblings, who didn't even have to be created by the same bot, bonds between friends, which were generally weaker than most bonds, and Seekers, always grouped together in threes, had a bond close to that of sparkmates called a Trine bond. The rarest bond was that of split-spark twins, two bots who shared one spark that had split in two.

By forming bonds, you could create a "clan," essentially a network connecting dozens of bots together through different bonds, although the bonds would be weaker than if they were directly created between individuals instead of being created through a common link.

The Allspark had tried to dumb it down a bit for him, but he still found the process of bonds as well as the lack of genders utterly confusing. A creator and sparkling could have a sibling bond on top of a creator-sparkling bond, and sparkmates could also be "siblings." Adding that to the lack of genders, he came to the conclusion it was easier to simply think of them in human terms and refer to them as "he" or "she" in his mind and ignore the complexities of "clan politics," a.k.a bonds.

After he had gained a small portion of Mock's trust by returning to visit and often buying him Energon, the mech had started introducing him to other Gammas. And that was how Sam found _him_.

* * *

><p>AN: Anyone want to guess who "he" is?<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Oh wow, guys, I am so sorry it took this long to update, and I know the chapter is disappointingly short for such a long haitus. Life just got in the way, and then there was the wall of writers block my plot bunnies had to chew through...so yeah. It took a while, and I just wanted to get this out there. I will calmly accept all rotten tomatoes thrown, but please avoid the rotten eggs.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor am I making any profit from this.

Credits: A big thank you to dglsprincess105 for allowing me to borrow her idea. This story was inspired by her story, All in the Family. And yes, I know these are two very different stories, but I asked her a long time ago if I could borrow Sam as a caretaker to the Autobots-Decepticons-turned-sparklings, and that idea morphed into this one. dglsprincess105 is my inspiration, and the credit goes to her.

I do not own the list of Cybertronian times, and much of the stuff about Cybertronian culture and whatnot was inspired by dozens of other Transformers stories.

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds_  
>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

_Mechanometer_ - 1 meter_  
>Hic<em> - 1 kilometer

_In this chapter italics indicates thoughts. Large blocks of italics indicate POV changes._

* * *

><p>"Altor! Oi, Altor!"<p>

Sam glanced up from the freighter he was loading and looked questioningly at the Gamma hiding in the shadows between two stacks of crates. He recognized her instantly as Bull, one of the bots Mock had introduced him to. She'd been cold and untrusting on their meeting several deca-cycles ago, and as stubborn as her earthly namesake. _What could she possibly need that she'd leave the slums and risk arrest for?_ Quickly, he slipped over to her, finding the gap a bit of a squeeze for his larger frame. "What is it, Bull?"

"We found a sparklin'," she hissed. "Under the docks. There's somethin' wrong with 'im, keeps screamin' every time someone even starts movin' in 'is direction. Th' rest of th' time 'e's just blank, starin' at th' ground like 'e's been deactivated."

Feeling a sharp pulse in his spark, he recognized that this was important. Very important. At her description, something had started internally tugging him in the direction of the slums. _Is it possible . . ._ "How long ago was this?" he demanded suddenly.

"Couple'a cycles."

"I get off work in half a joor. Can you watch him until I get there?"

"Shure," she said, somewhat uneasily. "But if there's trouble I'm not stickin' 'round."

"Understood." Altor made to slide back out and paused, frowning. "Out of curiosity, why'd you come to me?"

"...Ya got credits'n ya seem t' care 'bout bots like us. Figured if there's anyone who'd help 'im without questions'n gettin' Enforcers or th' Underground involved, ya'd be th' bot."

He looked at her and said with sincere warmth, "Thank you."

"Yah, yah, get goin' 'fore yer boss misses ya," Bull grumbled, slipping away.

"And Bull," he called softly, continuing when she paused and glanced back. "Be careful."

"'Course," she snorted. "Always am."

He watched until she disappeared, then hurried back to the freighter and resumed working, thoughts churning, focusing on the constant, worried tugging. He would be extremely happy when this shift was over...

* * *

><p><em>There was so much noise. Too much noise. He couldn't hear himself think. He could barely feel his own body move. It abated somewhat when he found an isolated place, but then THEY came, and with them the noise. And it hurt. It hurt so much...he could hear screaming, and he distantly recognized that the sound was coming from his own vocalizer, and it only stopped when they quit trying to get closer, tried to see what's wrong. He wanted to tell them that everything was wrong, that everything hurt, and he couldn't turn it off.<em>

_After a while, only one remained, hovering at the edges of the painful range. They waited, and they watched. He didn't know how long they'd been there, until suddenly, another one came. But this one, this one lifted him off the ground, held him close, and after the first rush of pain it was quiet. Everything was quiet._

_The connection happened instinctively. It felt like the one that he'd had with his creators, what seemed like forever ago, but this one was soothing, warm, understanding, loving. It called him precious and told him everything was going to be alright._

_But best of all, with the connection came _something_._

_And it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before._

_He thought it was called...peace._

* * *

><p>Sam recognized him instantly. Or rather, the Allspark did. At first he couldn't match a designation to the tiny, limp frame propped up on a support post under the docks, but the almost overwhelming urge to hold and love and <em>precious, precious little spark, my spark, mine<em> had first priority. A designation was not important, the spark call was.

So before anyone could stop him, he'd made himself comfortable on the ground and was cradling the sparkling against his chassis, murmuring soothing nonsense to hush his screams, spark field pulsing and wrapping around the fragile flicker of life.

The brush of a spark against his own, seizing, grasping, clinging desperately much like the sparkling was doing to his frame, latching onto him like a very stubborn barnacle. And Sam got to experience first-hand what the formation of a guardian/creator-creation bond felt like—silk threads wrapping around and _connecting_.

And he could feel the raging inferno of mental screaming silence into wonder.

"Don't worry, Soundwave," he found himself murmuring as he stood, still holding the precious bundle. His first—the first change he'd made on Cybertron, the first change affecting a life he'd promised to save. It was stunning. It was frightening. It was overwhelming. It was absolutely wonderful, like a heady adrenaline rush. And he had no idea what he was doing. At all. "We'll figure this out together."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, Sam found his first one. And it was Soundwave. Congrats, people who guessed correctly! ^^ Anyone want to take a guess at who's next?<strong>

**Um, yeah...hehe...sorry about the really short chapter. Hoped you all enjoyed it, and if you didn't, well, then as I said I will calmly accept all rotten tomatoes thrown. Chapters should start to get longer in the future...  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

_**ATTENTION! PLEASE READ NOTICE BELOW:**_

_**Someone mentioned they were having problems picturing what Altor/Sam looks like, so I drew four versions of his head. I have a pic of Altor Prime's head with his visor engaged but his battle mask retracted up on DeviantArt under the name Kagefire if anyone wants to see it. Be forewarned, it was done by Paint application, so it isn't as good as my pencil drawings of his head, which aren't up for viewing yet. Just thought I'd let you know, if anyone was interested in seeing it.  
><strong>_

AN: Surprise! I said this chapter would come at the end of November, but I lied. ...Well, I wasn't lying at the time. I was positive it would take that long to update. Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are that I actually updated sooner than promised...My apologies, once again, for the short chapter. They WILL start getting longer in the future...they will also have more action than boring descriptions...

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor am I making any profit from this.

Credits: A big thank you to dglsprincess105 for allowing me to borrow her idea. This story was inspired by her story, All in the Family. And yes, I know these are two very different stories, but I asked her a long time ago if I could borrow Sam as a caretaker to the Autobots-Decepticons-turned-sparklings, and that idea morphed into this one. dglsprincess105 is my inspiration, and the credit goes to her.

I do not own the list of Cybertronian times, and much of the stuff about Cybertronian culture and whatnot was inspired by dozens of other Transformers stories.

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds_  
>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

_Mechanometer_ - 1 meter_  
>Hic<em> - 1 kilometer

_In this chapter italics indicates thoughts._

* * *

><p>'Figuring this out' was hard. Really hard. Sam had babysat a few kids in his lifetime, but never had he actually taken care of his <em>own<em> kid. And Soundwave was his kid. Or, in Cybertronian terms, his sparkling. Being a parent (a creator) was confusing. And he still mixed up English and Cybertronian in conversations sometimes. He was pretty sure several of his coworkers thought he was glitched.

Sam was used to being human. Sam wasn't used to skating around on little, retractable wheels on the bottoms of his peds, or flying-the first time he'd tried flying when he was alone, he found out he was just as klutzy in the air as a mech as he was on the ground as a human-or consuming Energon, which tasted like he imagined light and electricity would taste if it had a flavor. He hadn't yet been able to bring himself to try any of the additives, like rust sticks or chemicals, in his Energon, or try any of the other Cybertronian cuisine, such as oil cakes or Energon goodies.

Sam wasn't used to being responsible for a chil-sparkling. After realizing he couldn't simply leave Soundwave alone while he worked, and he didn't have enough credits yet to quit his job, he had to look for alternative options. 'Daycare' was out of the question because of Soundwave's telepathic powers which required Sam as a barrier to block them, leaving him with a 'babysitter' was out for the same reason.

After two cycles of pondering, he finally remembered something human parents would do and so managed to cobble together what amounted to the Cybertronain version of a baby carrier that could latch onto his back without impeding his movement.

The first time he wore it (and the sparkling) to work, he'd been subjected to many stares in varying states of emotions, the primary ones being amused bemusement and 'this mech is insane'. His boss, after he'd given a partial explanation, allowed him to continue bringing Soundwave to work with the condition that it not hinder him doing his job.

So Sam learned how to bring extra (diluted so the sparkling's tanks could handle it) Energon and some toys along in his subspace and his coworkers eventually adjusted to seeing him wearing the contraption. The Gammas, when he visited the slums, thought he was weird but admitted it was a rather clever idea. (Which meant he ended up making carriers for some of the other creators there.)

But he knew it was just a temporary solution to the problem. Soundwave would eventually have to learn how to control his ability on his own-he couldn't keep depending on Sam to be there for every nano-klik of the vorn, because the ex-human simply couldn't.

And there were times when Sam became overwhelmed and ended up having a panic or anxiety attack. The Allspark was his only grasp on sanity in those times.

At first it had been weird, having a secondary presence lurking around in his processors. But the benefits-the sudden lines of script scrolling across his vision explaining certain Cybertronian customs when he had questions-far outweighed the cons. He couldn't access the Allsparks power, which was somewhat of a relief-he didn't want the responsibility-but he had its knowledge.

So yes, coming to the past and taking on a sparkling was a lot of work, headaches (prosessoraches), panic attacks, and agony, but when he powered down for recharge (sleep), with Soundwave cuddled by his chassis (chest), the thoughts coming from the other side of the bond made it all worthwhile.

_Warm. Content. Creator here. I safe._


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I was given the challenge to write better descriptions. As it was pointed out to me, not everyone wants to take the time to go to a completely different site just to look at a picture, so this is my response. However, if you still want to see an actual picture of Sam's head, directions for how to find it are in the previous chapter. Your fantastic (I would like to thank everyone for that, by the way) reviews have both inspired and challenged me, so here it is, a new chapter an amazingly short time after the last update. ^^**

**...And I almost wrote 'fantastic' as 'fanatic'... ^^'  
><strong>

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, nor am I making any profit from this.

Credits: A big thank you to dglsprincess105 for allowing me to borrow her idea. If you don't know what I'm talking about by now, please go back and read the previous chapter.

I do not own the list of Cybertronian times, and much of the stuff about Cybertronian culture and whatnot was inspired by dozens of other Transformers stories.

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds  
><em>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

_Mechanometer_ - 1 meter_  
>Hic<em> - 1 kilometer

* * *

><p>Bull looked like your average Gamma. Rusting, scraped and dented frame, pieces of outer plating missing including her left shoulder plate, wires sticking out and sparking in some places. If her frame had color, it was long since hid beneath layers of grime and rust, but there was a time she could remember that she'd been painted crimson with black accents. She was short for her frame type, one of the heavier of the slim builds, and her optics glowed a dim, dark blue. Her servos ended in three blunted claws, and her broad peds rested on heavy tank-treads. The moving belts had broken a long time ago, forcing her to pick up her peds to walk.<p>

She was one of the Gammas who worked in the junkyards, hauling scrap, so she had it better off than most. Her apartment, really just a small nook under some stairs, was just as rundown as she was, but at least she had a place to stay. Life in the slums was hard-you couldn't trust anyone with anything you considered valuable, and no one could trust you with theirs.

But then along came Altor. Tall, strong, intimidating mech, streamlined so finely his outer plating moulded to him like it was his protoform. Pure black, with thin streaks of vibrant acid green and turquoise blue occasionally zigzagging across his frame like marbled lightning, more obviously on his head. His audios were comet shaped, with two triangles coming out at a slanted angle from a round hub that his visor attached to, and he had a ridge on his head that was lined with three oval lights on either side, one set of green, one set of blue, and another set of green.

She'd never seen his optics behind his pitch black visor-she didn't even know if he _had_ optics, but the upper edge of his visor had thin stripes of green that formed a triangular strip and glowed or dimmed depending on his mood. His visor wasn't one solid band, instead the bottom center had a triangle cut out of it where it rested above his olfactory sensor, which was diamond-shaped, and the sides of his visor formed a curved, rounded right trapezoid.

His mouthplates, covered in fine mesh wiring, had three sections to them. The upper part, right under his olfactory sensor, enlarged the broad diamond shape. The middle part looked like a thick, very blunt arrow that pointed down, and was the part of his mouthplates that actually opened, retracting like sliding doors. Below that was another arrow-like piece of mesh. Most of the time everything from his olfactory sensors to his lower jaw was covered by a battle mask. That, coupled with his visor made it very difficult to read his expressions and also added to the intimidation factor.

He had five fingers on each servo, and his peds, which had both thrusters and retractable wheels, were narrow with the front end splitting off into two balancing plates. When he walked, he put most of his weight on those plates. When he used his wheels, his peds were perfectly level. She didn't know if he had wings or not, but he didn't look like a flier. The only reason she even knew he had thrusters was because they activated once, obviously by accident by his embarrassed cringe after he'd finished tripping.

But he looked like a noble.

That was the one thing she didn't understand and what made her so wary of him. He looked like a noble, his frame was always clean, he clearly had credits, he acted in an obviously educated and refined manner, he spoke like a noble, albeit a very non-pompous one, but he interacted with the Gammas as if he was their equal and not their superior. He helped them, he even appeared to enjoy their company!

And he took in the glitching sparkling-somehow calmed it down-without a second thought. He cared for it as if he'd sparked it himself.

He was generous, he was kind, he was considerate, he was polite, he was-he was-! Gah, he was a complete mystery! Despite his appearance, there were times when he would do something completely insane, like start babbling nonsense that no one could understand, or do something so completely _alien_ like grab someone's servo when they were introduced and shake it up and down.

Altor was glitched. That was the only way to explain it.

But when Bull was running from two thugs who decided she was a pleasure-bot, Altor had saved her. He had grabbed her, shoved her into an alleyway and handed her his sparkling to hold, and before she knew what was happening he'd sliced them both apart with a massive blade, as dark as a blackhole and almost as long as he was tall, but no wider than the span of his servo. The blade looked as if it wasn't even there, like a phantom, a somehow solid liquid with edges so sharp, they'd sliced through a heavy frame without any real effort, but if she tilted her head at a different angle it looked intangible. It was rectangular in shape with a serrated tip, and the handle was just a straight bar. Plain. but deadly.

She'd been too deep in shock to thank him, but he hadn't said a word. Instead, he'd taken his sparkling back and escorted her to Mock's usual hideout, bought her a cube of energon, and left.

Which meant Bull owed him one for saving her life.

Stupid glitchy noble.

She could've lost those thugs in a few more kliks...

(Bull just didn't want to admit that she was grateful.)

* * *

><p>The first time Sam killed someone (other than Megatron, and that didn't exactly count), the Allspark had throbbed in pressing worry until he'd followed its wordless directions and seen Bull, fleeing down the street with two sleazy looking mechs following. He didn't need the Allspark to tell him their intentions.<p>

He didn't know where the sword had come from, but it only took one swing, one simple, almost lazy swing to decapitate them after shoving Bull and Soundwave into an alley. He'd seen worse than their frames, cut in half in a curving arc that started at the shoulder-neck junction of one mech, curved down through his spark chamber, and ripped straight through the other's spark chamber, in the visions of the war on Cybertron. Getting rid of the sword was as simple as thinking about it. He would have to experiment with that later, but for now Bull appeared to be deep in shock.

He took Soundwave from her arms-she'd almost dropped him-and carefully placed a servo on her shoulder, gently guiding her over to Mock's place, where he left her in the other Gamma's care before heading to his own apartment.

It was only until after he started powering down for recharge that he realized he didn't feel any guilt, just a strong instinct to protect the femme. Recalling the words that had accompanied his journey to the past, a faint smile twitched at his rigid (he hadn't gotten used to not having lips yet) mouthplates.

_Welcome to the Ranks of the Primes, Altor, Protector of Cybertron._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So we got to see from Bull's POV. But, yay! My first...well, I'm pretty sure it's my first...chapter that exceeds 1000 words of actual story! ...Even though it was mostly description...<br>**

**EDITED: Replaced Shockwave with Soundwave. Really, how did Shockwave get in there? Sam hasn't even found him yet...  
><strong>

**EDITED May 31, 2013: 'someones hand' to 'someone's servo.'  
><strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Well, it's been a while since my last update. Sorry about that. I hope I haven't disappointed anyone _too_ badly...Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and a big thank you to everyone who reviewed, faved, and alerted this fic. Without your encouragement, this would probably never be updated.**

**For disclaimers and credits, see any previous six chapters.**

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds  
><em>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

_Mechanometer_ - 1 meter_  
>Hic<em> - 1 kilometer

* * *

><p>Sam was now wracking his mind for ideas on how to control his ward's telepathy. It wasn't going well. "Okay." <em>'Great. Brilliant.'<em> Sam took a deep intake. _'How in the world am I gonna do this? I don't know anything about telepathy, how'm I supposed to help Sound...Sound. A really annoying song that gets stuck in your head and you can't get it out or think of anything else.'_ "Soundwave, we're going to play a game," he decided suddenly, inspiration hitting him like a semi truck. He quickly ran back through his memories and picked a song, 'Momma's Gonna Buy You a Mocking Bird', edited out the vocals-because if the sparkling started asking questions about English it would be awkward-and sent it through the bond.

Soundwave's optics shuttered in confused surprise at the unfamiliar audio track.

"The game is called 'Focus'. We're going to keep that song playing in our hea-processors all joor. You focus on my thoughts and I'll send it to you and then you'll send it to me through your thoughts, like playing catch, except with our processors."

Sam got the feeling that if Soundwave wasn't telepathic and didn't have the bond, he wouldn't have a clue what Sam was talking about. Sam didn't have a clue what he was talking about either, but at least it was a start.

* * *

><p>Once they got the hang of it, Soundwave absolutely loved Focus. Sam would send an audio track and they would play 'catch' with it, and then Sam would do something like change a note and Soundwave would change it back once they started to get bored. At the moment, Soundwave's processors weren't equipped to handle multi-tasking very well, so it took him a lot of focus-hence the name of the game-to keep up.<p>

Sam still hadn't gotten used to how fast and how much he could process at the same time. A line of thought that would've taken him five minutes to complete with a human brain took him barely seconds with a Cybertronian processor. It was astounding. His new 'computing prowess' meant he actually had to slow his processing down to Soundwave's level, which was still beyond human capability.

It was, quite frankly, mind-boggling. Humanities capabilities were like a dripping facet compared the Niagra falls of Cybertronian ability. Humanity, for all its technology, when compared to Cybertronians was like comparing a sharpened stick to a nuclear bomb. Sam could easily see how Megatron felt entitled to call humans insects. _Maggot._ And yet...Will, Epps and the others, how they'd fought back and _won_ against such incredible odds...that was also mind-boggling.

Sam abruptly shook his head and returned his attention to taking inventory of the shipment, checking the tracking codes on the crates his coworkers were transferring against the list on his datapad. Technically, this wasn't his job. He should be helping to load the cargo, except his supervisor had snapped a strut and decided to assign Sam as his temporary replacement before one of the other bots dragged him off to see a medic.

The ex-human had no idea it was possible to scowl when you didn't have lips, but somehow he was managing it. "I didn't even want this job," he complained to no one in particular.

Soundwave poked his back.

_Creator upset?_

"Eh, not so much upset as annoyed. I mean seriously, I am not-oi! Boltbreaker, that crate belongs in the other pile!-not suited for this at all." Sam had never gotten the hang of talking to kids. As a result, he tended to speak more as equals to the sparkling. Which was alright because Soundwave could get the general gist of what he was saying through the bond. "I _really_ can't wait until shift is over. Boltbreaker, wrong pile! Again. How on Cybertron does Skip deal with this on a constant basis?"

* * *

><p>Two mega-cycles later:<p>

"Well, everything looks to be in order."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, everything except Boltbreaker's sense of direction."

Skip looked up from the datapad and deadpanned, "There's nothing wrong with his navigational systems. I had a medic check them."

"...Seriously?"

"Ask Boltbreaker if you don't believe me."

"...And he _still_ can't figure out which one is right and left?"

Skip's 'engine' rumbled in amusement. "How many times did you have to correct him?"

"Forty four."

"...Only forty four? Normally he asks three times as much."

Sam shrugged, rubbing the back of his helm sheepishly. "I eventually just wrote left and right on his servos."

"...I wish I'd thought of that. Tell you what, if it sticks, I'll buy you a cube."

"Unnecessary. I'll be happy if you just never give me your job again."

"You did a good job."

"You do a much better job," the visored mech countered. "Well, I'd best be going. Things to do, sparklings to feed, invisible objects to trip over..."

Focus game: success. Soundwave was distracted the entire shift. Problem solving: success. Boltbreaker only took three more wrong turns after writing the glyphs down. Overall: success.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I figure Cybertronians have longer 'days' than we do, so perhaps an orn for them is the equivalent of a day for us. <em>

_Edited: Shockwave decided to sneak in again, had to replace him with Soundwave... *facepalm*_


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Surprise! I know, it's been forever since my last update... ^^  
><strong>

**This chapter is for all you inspiring people who actually want to read my insanity. Seriously, everyone, thank you. Your support is very much appreciated.**

**For disclaimers and credits, see the first six chapters.**

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds  
><em>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

_Mechanometer_ - 1 meter_  
>Hic<em> - 1 kilometer

* * *

><p><em>"Boy, you returned for me."<em>

_"The Matrix of Leadership cannot be found, it must be earned."_

_"Sunny! Sunny, _no!_"_

_"Kitten calendar, kitten calendar, kitten calendar."_

_"Well, that wasn't so bad. I just hope we're still on the right planet."_

_"The Cube was merely a vessel. Its power, its knowledge, can never be destroyed. It can only transform."_

_"Is it fear or courage that compels you, fleshling?"_

_"Elita..."_

_"We have no choice!"_

_"It was, and has always been, your destiny."_

_"Sam. Sam!"_

_"I wish to stay with the boy."_

Sam came online with a start, hand curling tighter around Soundwave's frame. The sparkling was curled up against his side, nestled in the crook of his arm and recharging peacefully. Cybertronians didn't dream like humans did, but they did occasionally cycle through memories or data during recharge. Sam had been somewhere in between, recalling bits of his life and the Allspark visions.

_'I miss them.'_ The realization sent a pang through his chest. It was the first time Sam had really thought about it, about Earth and his past life, and now his loss was finally sinking-the understanding that he would never see his family again. _'You gave it up,'_ he reminded himself. _'Quit complaining.'_ No Ron and Judy, no Mojo, no Mikaela, no Miles...no Will or Epps or any of the other soldiers. _'If Megatron never goes to Earth, will they still have technology like that? Would my parents have a son named Sam Witwicky or would he/I never exist? It doesn't matter, you'll never know.' _Sam retracted his mask and visor, running a hand down his face in silent frustration. _'Thinking about it isn't going to help. If you keep thinking about it, you're going to have another panic attack-'_

_Bang! Bang!_ "Altor! Altor, y' in there?!"

Startled out of his thoughts, Sam sat upright and swung his legs off the berth, quickly moving to answer the door before it could be struck again. "Mock? What is it?"

His apartment was in one of the 'better' parts of the Gamma sector, or to be more precise, the lesser run down area, but it was still a surprise to see the Gamma at his door. As far as he'd known, he hadn't given out his address to anyone, so he was caught off guard to see the mech.

Mock was all harsh angles, skinny frame, and reminded him of a bulkier Frenzy with Jazz's head sans visor wearing a jester's hat. Except the paint that still showed through all the rust and grime was purple and orange. He also only had one optic since the left one was broken.

"Altor..." the mech faltered, awkwardly searching for words, not knowing how to put it. "When we met, y' told me t' ask...an' I di'n know what else t' do..."

"What do you need?" Sam asked instantly.

"Three hundred credits. I wouldn' ask but t' debt collectors' goin' t' take a third frame f' parts-" he blurted out, frantic, desperate and pleading yet cringing away.

A third frame...a youngling. _'Just a child,'_ Sam realized, sickened. But he kept his voice steady. "Stop a moment, Mock. Let me see if I understand. You need three hundred credits to pay off a debt so that a third frame youngling won't get taken for spare parts to pay off the debt?"

"'S truth. Altor, I swear-"

"Here."

Mock's intakes stalled, optic widening in shock at the chip. Cybertronian credits resembled human credit or gift cards in a way-they were small, rectangular chips that had monetary values displayed by a number on a screen. When 'money' was removed the number went down. When 'money' was added it went up. Credits could either be exchanged from hand to hand or credits could be removed or added from the chip. Sam had just given him a chip worth three hundred and fifty-two credits.

"Take it." _This gift is for you._

"...Y'...y' really...y' givin'..."

"You didn't actually believe I would."

"'Course not! Would b' glitched t' even hope f' that much in t' slums! I thought y' would maybe give a quarter of that if y' did."

"Mock. Take the credits. Go pay off the debt collectors."

"I..." He accepted it with a shaking servo. "We owe y' one."

"You owe me nothing. It's a gift-all of it."

"...Y' crazy, y' know that, Altor?"

Sam, having picked up on some of the nuances of Cybertronian communication, flared his energy signature in amusement, flickering against the Gamma's personal field, or 'bubble', as the ex-human liked to call it, not invasive enough to be considered close, but enough to be considered friendly. In other words, he smiled without a mouth."Crazy makes life interesting."

Mock abruptly bowed, servos crossed over his chassis, a formal sign of respect. "Y' got m' gratitude, Altor. Me'n all t' others. I di'n really trust y' 'fore, bu' y' got it now." _I would give my life for you._

Sam was left, shaken at the nuances of that parting line, staring at the alleyway that his companion had vanished into.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Look at it this way: SamAltor is an 'Alpha' working as a Delta, living in the Gamma sector. The Gammas think he's an alright mech but they're wary because, really, what is an Alpha doing in the slums? Now he's just handed over a large sum-huge to most Gammas-as a _gift_. Meaning they're not in his debt. That's not now things work in the slums. You don't give gifts like that without wanting something in return. Sam doesn't want anything and isn't expecting anything. What Sam did when he gave Mock the credits was form an oral contract between the two of them that means-by law-he can't demand the credits back. Mock trusted him before in a limited way, sort of like 'you don't hurt me and I won't hurt you, and I'll make sure others know not to hurt you either.' Now the trust level just shot through the roof, because Sam could have called a 'life-debt' or something similar in return and he didn't._

_...Um...I'm not really good at explaining this...Think of it like someone saves your life and then goes out of their way to help you afterwards and then makes a legal contract that everything they gave you cannot be returned. You can't repay your debt to them because you don't have one._

_Bangs head against wall. I don't know how else to put it! I'm creating an alien culture here!_


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I'm finding myself all AN'ed out, so this chapter is, once again, for all you inspiring people who actually want to read my insanity. Seriously, everyone, thank you. Your support is very much appreciated.  
><strong>

**Oh yes, just to let you know, if you want you can go to my DeviantArt account under the name Kagefire, and there are some sketches of Bull there if you're interested. Just rough drafts, though. You don't have to and I'm not asking you to, just letting you know it's available.**

**For disclaimers and credits, see the first six chapters.**

**Minor edits made July 6, 2013 (Once again, thank you for pointing out those little glitches.)**

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds  
><em>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours  
><em>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

_Mechanometer_ - 1 meter_  
>Hic<em> - 1 kilometer

* * *

><p>The first time Mock met Altor, he tried to hack into the Alpha's subspace and steal his Energon and credits. When he was caught, he was terrified that he'd be turned over to the Enforcers-Enforcers weren't all that lenient with Gamma criminals-but instead of reacting the way Mock thought he would, Altor had remained calm and unbothered, told him he 'only had to ask', then offered to buy him a cube.<p>

Of course, Mock was suspicious. After all, no one was that generous in the slums. But Altor didn't _act_ like he was in the slums. He treated Mock like an equal, _had a conversation _with him, and at no point did he seem anything but honest, apparently trying to get the Gamma to relax. Which only made Mock more suspicious.

And yet, despite Mock's attitude and everything he did to try and make the mech show his true intentions (which included a lot of insults that would have had him slagged even by another Gamma), Altor kept finding him, kept buying him Energon, and kept having pleasant conversations with him.

So Mock decided to introduce him to some other Gammas, to see if he would treat them any different. He didn't. In his awkward, glitchy way, he somehow managed to be humble and friendly. He was always willing to help, even with tasks such as building a shelter or fetching things they needed.

It was processor-stalling.

Then again, in all probability, the mech was glitched. How else would you explain an Alpha living in the Gamma sector, working as a Delta, taking in a glitched Gamma sparkling and then carrying it around on his back with a weird contraption? Not to mention, he would occasionally start speaking in some weird, distinctly non-Cybertronian language, do random things that made no sense, or forget/not know some basic thing of Cybertronian culture.

Yup, Altor was glitched.

But Mock didn't think he would demand a third frame youngling for parts in place of credits to pay off a debt. The Gammas who knew Gear and Tanker (oh how Tanker cursed his partner, Slick, for running off and leaving them with Slick's gambling debt) had put together a collective effort to get enough credits to at least make a down-payment on the debt to prevent them from taking the youngling, but it wasn't enough. They had fifty credits and needed at least sixty more.

There was only one bot Mock knew who might lend them that many credits: Altor.

It was only luck that Mock had once followed Altor to his apartment out of curiosity, because otherwise he wouldn't have known where to locate the Alpha at this time of the deca-cycle, since he'd looked first in the mech's usual haunts and hadn't been able to find him. Now he was running through the alleys, hoping he would be able to convince the mech to help, and he was desperate to agree to anything in return.

There it was-Altor's apartment.

He practically crashed into the metal, hitting it with both fists. "Altor! Altor, y' in there?!"

Before he could land a third hit, it slid open, revealing a slightly startled Altor. "Mock? What is it?"

And he suddenly realized he had no idea how to word his request to get the Alpha to agree. "Altor..." _'What if he refuses?' _ "When we met, y' told me t' ask...an' I di'n know what else t' do..."

The response was instantaneous. "What do you need?"

"Three hundred credits," he blurted out the sum they would need to pay off the whole along with the fifty credits that they already had. "I wouldn' ask but t' debt collectors' goin' t' take a third frame f' parts-" he cringed, he was frantic, desperate, and he could hear himself begging despite himself.

"Stop a moment, Mock. Let me see if I understand. You need three hundred credits to pay off a debt so that a third frame youngling won't get taken for spare parts to pay off the debt?"

_'Please, please,' _"'S truth. Altor, I swear-" he began, trying to project his sincerity through his energy signature.

"Here."

Mock's intakes stalled as he stared at the credit chip Altor had just held out. Three hundred and fifty-two credits. He'd just been handed three hundred and fifty-two credits.

"Take it."

And the mech was offering it...as a _gift?_

"...Y'...y' really...y' givin'..."

"You didn't actually believe I would." It was a simple fact.

"'Course not! Would b' glitched t' even hope f' that much in t' slums! I thought y' would maybe give a quarter of that if y' did."

"Mock," Altor looked at him seriously. "Take the credits. Go pay off the debt collectors."

"I..." He accepted it with a shaking servo. "We owe y' one."

"You owe me nothing. It's a gift-all of it."

"...Y' crazy, y' know that, Altor?"

Mock felt Altor's energy signature flare against his in amusement. "Crazy makes life interesting."

With those words, Mock found all his suspicions wiped away. Altor honestly wanted to help, he had no other intentions. Making his decision, he bowed, servos crossed over his chassis, in a formal sign of respect that he scrounged up somewhere from his creator's stories. It was the only thing he could think of that could properly display his gratitude. "Y' got m' gratitude, Altor. Me'n all t' others. I di'n really trust y' 'fore, bu' y' got it now." _'__I would give my life for you if you asked.'  
><em>

Then he whirled and bolted back into the alleyways, racing to get back in time to pay off the debt collectors before they took the youngling.

* * *

><p>He was just in time. They were already there, about to seize Gear when he burst in and shoved the credits into the lead-mech's servo. Red optics narrowed as they studied the chip, running a quick scan, then nodded and looked towards his thugs, satisfied. "Leave it. We have what we came for."<p>

Within nano-kliks, they were gone.

"Y' paid 'em off in whole?" Tanker stared at him in shock from his position on the floor, where he'd fallen to embrace his whimpering youngling.

Mock nodded, watching them with a grin.

"Who we owe?"

"Nothin'. T' credits were a gift."

There was dead silence as they tried to process that.

"...What?"

"Wen' t' Altor-"

"D' glitchy Alpha slingin' in d' slums wi' d' Gammas ya?" Tanker's friend Bit interrupted.

"Firmative. Di'n give m' a chance t' 'splain fully, just said I needed t' 'mount of credits t' pay off t' debt collectors, an' 'e gifted it. Di'n ask fer proof of m' word or nothin'."

"But...but that amount coulda called a spark-debt!"

"E di'n want one. Nothin'. No life-fer-a-life, no vows of service, no spark-debt, no credits back, no nothin'."

"...But...bots jus' dun _do_ thet in th' slums!"

"Altor did," Mock shot back promptly. "Crazy mech."

"Primus bless him." Tanker's helm dropped to rest against Gear's and a shudder ran through his frame, emotions were practically rolling off him in waves. "Primus bless him."

"Thought ya di'n believe in Primus?" Bit said in query.

"Never had a reason to b'fore. But this...miracles don't happen in th' slums."

And the most radical thought Mock had ever had crossed his processors at that moment. _'Maybe Altor's not so much a glitch...maybe e's a miracle.'_

* * *

><p><em>AN: So there you have it. Mock's POV of the last chapter. Hope you enjoyed.<em>

_Out of curiosity, is there anyone who would be interested in reading 'extras' from the story? Things like Sam's first panic attack, small interactions with Soundwave, things that won't exactly fit into the main story. If you could leave a message or a review saying 'Yes, I'd be interested', that would be lovely. And if you want the extras, would you prefer omakes at the end of the chapter or a separate collection?_

_...Maybe I should make a poll..._


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Well, here it is. Next chapter up. A big thank you to everyone who read, faved, alerted, and reviewed, and a special mention to T.T who is very persistent and continues to review every few days. It's very encouraging and makes me want to write even though I have no idea what to write.**

**Through popular vote I will be writing extras in a separate collection. I will let you know when those are up, but Antebellum WILL take priority over writing extras, so it may not be for a while yet or it could be up by the next update.**

**For credits and disclaimers, please see the first few chapters. As of now, this entire story is disclaimed and credited, so I will not be repeating myself except this once: I do not own Transformers and I do not make any money from it. Plot bunny credited to dglsprincess105.**

* * *

><p>For all of Sam's exploring, he'd never left the Gamma sector and the poor areas of the Delta sector. Most of the time he went to work, he visited the Gammas, or he stayed in his apartment. He'd woken up on Cybertron in the Delta sector and he'd almost immediately gone to the Gamma sector. Why, he had no idea, but it seemed like a safer place to hide in while he got his bearings.<p>

He wondered if it had been the Allspark's influence, since the Gamma sector was where he'd found Soundwave, and he wouldn't have found Soundwave if the Gammas hadn't alerted him. ...And thinking about the Allspark made him think about his visions, and that brought about the question of where he would find the others. Despite the information from the visions, he still had no clue as to the locations of his...well, they weren't exactly his yet...but he still didn't know where on Cybertron he should start looking for the rest of the Autobots and Decepticons.

But Soundwave was improving. They were gradually getting to a place using the Focus game where Sam could leave the sparkling with a wall between them for brief periods of time. _'Baby steps,'_ Sam reminded himself, internally grimacing as his peds slipped slightly_. 'Take it one step at a time and we'll eventually get somewhere.'_

He hadn't attempted to actually drive/fly/hover anywhere in his alt-mode, despite having tried the transformation, and he hadn't attempted to fly after the first time he'd made the attempt out of alt-mode and failed miserably. He'd accidentally activated his thrusters a few times, though. (Highly embarrassing.) He kept his wings and tail retracted in public but sometimes extended them when he was alone just to get a feel for them. The wheels on his peds would activate whenever he made to move with flat feet-peds (he had to walk on his 'toes' to keep that from happening) and would retract when he stood still, which still managed to take him by surprise.

And he hadn't attempted to use his sword again either.

Sam got the feeling he should put more effort into learning how his body worked. Not just getting comfortable enough to move without falling over, but actually becoming at ease with it-turn it into second nature. He was pretty sure that without the Allspark's help, he would've managed to accidentally kill himself by now, either by neglecting his Energon intake or damaging something through sheer prowess in klutz.

"Well, Altor, looks like your way works."

Sam blinked, startled, and realized that while he'd been thinking he'd managed to get to work, sign in, and approach Skip for his next work assignment. "My what?"

"Writing directions on Boltbreaker's servos." Skip grinned at him. "Looks like I'm taking you out for Energon once we get off shift."

"Uh...I really don't-"

"I'll take you to a sparkling friendly place, I promise. Your next assignment is shipment 66953-Delta-36-Cypher1 Merchant Cargo Heavy Transport Praxus Farunn 3-01 to Merchant Delivery Shuttle Iacon Karix 9-56. Load of crystals being shipped to the Alpha sector, so treat it gently. You're the only one assigned to this load. The rest of the transport is going to the Beta sector, standard cargo. I gave you the interesting job."

"Interesting? What's so interesting about staring at a load of crates?" Sam retorted mildly.

Skip chuckled. "You'll see. You haven't worked with Praxian crystal yet."

Sam would've rolled his optics, but since the gesture was useless under his visor he simply grumbled a bit and accepted the datapad.

* * *

><p>The crystals <em>sang<em>.

Sam stared at the crates in shock, han-servo rubbing his chassis. It was almost overwhelming. The crystals seemed to harmonize together, all the while shifting to match their harmony with his spark resonance. It made his entire being pulse like he wanted to-to-well, he didn't know what he wanted to do, but simply standing there and basking was one of those desires.

Soundwave absolutely loved it.

His pleasure and interest was pouring through the bond, and he was practically swaying in his carrier. If Sam didn't know better he'd think the sparkling was drunk.

Acting on a sudden hunch, he removed the carrier and set Soundwave near the crate before slowly retreating a good distance away. He registered a slight vibe of discomfort from the telepath's side, but other than that...the crystals were blocking out everything but the current song they were using for Focus, keeping it looping somewhere in the back of Soundwave's processor as a sort of white noise, and Soundwave's own thoughts. As long as the sparkling kept his mind synched to the crystals song, he didn't experience any pain.

Rather overwhelmed, he declared to no one in particular, "...I have _got_ to get me one of those."

From Soundwave's rather pleased hum, he figured his ward agreed with him.

One possible solution to improve Soundwave's blocking skills: found. First trip out to get a drink with coworkers: ...pending.

* * *

><p><em>Brother.<em>

_Brother, where are you?_

_Are you there, Brother?_

_Come to us, Brother, find us._

_Find us._

_Protector._

_You are needed._

_Brother, find us._

_Come._

_Where are you?_

_Where are you?_

_Hear us, Brother. Hear our voice._

_Come find us, Brother._

_Come find us._


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: A big thank you to everyone who read, faved, alerted, and reviewed, and a special mention to T.T who is very persistent and continues to review every few days. It's very encouraging and makes me want to write even though I have no idea what to write. I did my best to get this chapter out before I left on my two-week long trip, and I did my best to make the chapter long.  
><strong>

**T.T: My sympathies to your surgery. I had an operation done on my toes too and it sucked.**

**Ka: I was really excited to see that you were drawing Altor...however, um...your link...there's no picture on the other end...I really want to see the drawing, so if you could fix that it would be great.**

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds_  
>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

* * *

><p><em>It hurt. In the beginning, as far back as he could remember, it hurt. There was no escaping that pounded, unrelenting pain.<em>

_But then he came and made the pain go away._

_He made everything better._

* * *

><p>Praxian crystals, as the Allspark told him, ranged anywhere from the size of a pinprick to the size of Buckingham Palace, although the giant ones were rare. Different colors and sizes had different resonances, no two were alike. Crystal arranging was considered one of the highest levels of Praxian art. Not only did it involve arranging the crystals to maximize their harmony, but also sculpting crystals through cutting and melting. The amount of minute details involved in the craft made Sam's head spin.<p>

Praxian crystal was also very expensive to get outside of Praxus. It was expensive in Praxus too, but didn't have all the taxes that importing it did. Each city was considered to be practically its own country, with its own Council to govern it, with the Prime or Primes over the Councils, hence import taxes and such. Since he couldn't afford shipping crystal to Iacon on his current budget, he would have to go to Praxus.

The crystals took Sam's mind off his impending doom long enough for shift to end. Of course, when he went to sign out and head back to his apartment he was accosted by Skip's rather amused voice. "Don't tell me you're trying to get out of free cubes."

Sam stopped in his tracks, processors stalling. "...Uh..."

The shorter mech grabbed his elbow and began pulling him in a different direction towards a small group of bots waiting by the doors. Sam didn't know their designations, and didn't recognize their faces either. "Bots, this is Altor. Altor this is Fliprun, Zagzip, and Zipzag, friends of mine."

Fliprun was a slim gray bot with one 'leg' ending in three wheels stacked on top of each other so that only one wheel was actually touching the ground, and were pinned on either side by intricate support struts. His helm had several rows of narrow plates like hair that seemed to ruffle and flatten depending on his mood. His arms ended in five 'fingers', but they were long and had six joints. He also had what looked like a hooked claw coming out of the back of his servo, and his optics were pale blue, set above a more 'human' looking nose and mouth. The mech just reached Sam's elbow. Sam got the impression that Fliprun was a firecracker waiting to go off.

Zagzip and Zipzag were identical, with very streamlined frames and almost lace-like armour. They reminded him of purple and black Arcees, except not as spikey and they had 'hair' coming out of their helms that looked like very flexible, short helicopter blades arranged in an almost Cleopatra style. They didn't have wheels for legs, and their optics were dark blue, almost navy. They also had long fingers.

All three bore a strange insignia on their shoulders. Three crossed lines forming a triangular shape in the center framing the glyph for 'entrance/captivate/astound'.

"They work as entertainers."

_'Ah. So rather like a circus...without animals. Or something. Like extreme acrobats.'_ "...Yo." He pulled hand up in a slight wave at the last second remembering _not_ to try shaking their servos. "Nice to meet you."

_Warm, contented feelings._

"Err, and this is Soundwave." He pointed back over his shoulder. "My...sparkling."

"Altor brings him to work all the time in that strange contraption of his," Skip added.

"Can't your mate take care of him?" Zagzip asked, cocking her head to one side with a slightly disproving look in her optics.

"...Well...I'm sure they could...if I had one."

She looked taken aback. "Oh. My apologies."

"It's fine. Really."

"Right then," Fliprun cut in, distracting from the awkward tension. "Shall we get going?"

* * *

><p>Since the Energon bar they were going to wasn't very far away they decided to walk. The four friends were soon talking and laughing, but Altor drifted along behind them in uncomfortable silence. He got the impression that the entertainers didn't really want him there. The walk wasn't all that long in actual distance, but the kliks dragged on<p>

The Crooked Lantern, named for the badly dented lanterns hanging crooked on their stands that framed the entrance, was fairly quiet. Only a few tables were occupied. Against the back wall was the bar area, and Sam could see all the different Energon dispensers and the containers of extra ingredients behind the counter. It looked like some crazy mix of a scientist's lab crossed with a bar and a candy store.

Skip led them over to a booth in the corner, and the instant they sat down virtual screens popped up from the table, one for each of them, listing the current menu. Sam looked at it warily. Amongst the combinations listed there were the options to pick which grade you wanted (high grade, medium grade, low grade), what extras (such as rust flakes, oil chips, and sulfuric acid) you wanted, and what brand of Energon you wanted. Alternatively, instead of making your own drink, you could pick one of The Crooked Lantern's combinations. The Allspark informed him that the higher classes had a greater selection, and helpfully listed a few things that only Alpha menus had to give a comparison, which Sam found to be rather useless in his current situation._  
><em>

"You alright there, Altor?"

He looked up to see Skip watching him with a bemused look. "Hmm? Oh...yeah, I'm...fine. I've just...never actually done this before."

"...What?"

"I mean I've never had anything other than plain medium grade Energon, so all of this..." he waved his han-servo at the menu, "is rather overwhelming."

Now all four were staring at him.

"...You mean you never even tried rust sticks? Or Energon goodies?" Zipzag blurted.

Sam shifted uncomfortably and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "My creator wasn't a fan of superfluous things...He was rather...paranoid. Figured we'd have less of a chance of being poisoned if he could detect the slightest shift of flavor..."

"...Not even oilcake?"

He gave her an embarrassed look. "I don't actually know what that is."

She gaped for a nano-klik longer then abruptly declared, "That settles it! We're getting oilcake!"

"As for Energon, why don't you try a Blue Downdrop?" Skip suggested. "It's a medium grade Energon with mercury for flavoring and condensed rust and Energon crystal flakes in the shape of spheres for a garnish. It's considered one of the milder combinations."

"Which means even a youngling could drink it," Fliprun added bluntly. "So you shouldn't have a problem with it."

Sam gave them a relieved energy signature smile and selected the combination on his menu. The menu vanished like a hologram from a movie once he hit 'selection complete', turning into a thin beam and shooting downwards into the little chip on the table. "Thank you."

The others finished their selections as Sam freed Soundwave from his carrier and set him on the seat next to him with his cube of sparkling Energon. The cube resembled a human sippy-cup at the top, except it also had what looked like a straw beside the opening, and since it had special indents for little fingers to grab Soundwave could hold it with no problems. In the beginning Sam had fed him, but Soundwave had quickly learned to do it himself, which saved Sam a lot of trouble on the job since he could just hand Soundwave the cube and let him drink.

The conversation resumed, although there was a noticable difference in the way they interacted with Sam. For some reason that he couldn't figure out, they now seemed more sympathetic than annoyed with his presence. Conversation still occasionally lapsed into awkward silences on Sam's part, but they made the effort to include him.

* * *

><p>Sam stared at the blob on the plate in front of him in mute, horrified silence. It looked like the disaster of all brownies. If Jello and a brownie had been mashed together, rolled in dirt, burned all the way through, set on fire then thrown in a pile of oil before being trampled on and then moulded into a cake-like shape and stabbed, this would be the result. It was black with a gold sheen, in a circular form, with black sludge oozing out from the top, and looked decidedly unappetizing.<p>

He lifted one finger and poked at it. It wobbled. More sludge oozed out.

Even his Energon hadn't been that bad-a cube of blue Energon with trails of silver running through it and floating blue and red spheres. It had surprised him with a pleasant taste, although it was comparable to the combination of lemon juice and chocolate mixed with electricity and light. In other words: strange but delicious.

But this...

"...I'm beginning to wonder if my creator was right about the poison thing..." he managed to get out after a few minutes, feeling sick. "You actually _ingest _this?"

"It tastes better than it looks," Zipzag assured him.

Sam whimpered.

"Oh c'mon, just try a bite!"

"...But...it's _oozing_!" Sam protested.

She handed him what looked like a long triangle of metal with the narrow end bent backwards, their version of a knife-spoon, and pushed the plate toward him. "Just a bite."

"...If I terminate from this, I'm blaming you." He cringed as he sliced a piece off, finding the cake surprisingly moist for its blackened appearance, and retracted his mask and the outer panels of his mouth (his lips), and quickly, not letting himself think about it, shoved the glob of sludge in. The interlocking plates (teeth) slid shut as the 'vacuum' activated and sucked the substance down to his fuel tanks, passing through the circular sets of rotating, serrated teeth at the back of his mouth. The process felt rather weird, but wasn't all that uncomfortable.

And apparently, he had a lot of taste sensors in his mouth.

And apparently, oilcake, despite its disgusting appearance, wasn't all that bad. There was no human comparison for it, but the cake was like a thick but somehow still extremely liquid brownie and left a heavy feeling behind in his mouth. It literally tasted heavy, but there were occasional zings of...zest...that exploded like those candies that you put in your mouth and then they crackle.

"Well?" Skip asked, watching him closely. "How was it?"

"...That," Sam began slowly, still working his glossa (tongue) around in his mouth, "was the grossest, weirdest thing that ever managed to taste like something edible. I don't get how something that icky looking manages to taste not that bad after a while." He looked at Zipzag. "I think it's an acquired taste."

"...So you like it?"

"I think I may _get_ to like it. Right now I'm more in a state of horrified fascination."

She cheered. "Yay! Then eat some more!"

"...How about I just drink my Energon for now and watch _you_ eat it?"

She gave him the Cybertronian equivalent to a pout.

Sam caved after a few nano-kliks and scooped another bite with a grimace.

"Just wait until you try rust and titanium sticks," Fliprun said. "They have a really nice bite."

"Oilcake is better," Zipzag disagreed.

"I personally prefer crystalized Energon goodies," Zagzip put in.

"Rust and titanium sticks are _far_ better."

"No, oilcreamcake is the best." This was Skip's opinion.

And the rest of the conversation dissolved into friendly bickering in between bites of oilcake and coaxing Sam into eating more.

First attempt at 'fancy' Energon: surprising. First attempt at trying oilcake: unsure. First trip out with co-workers: success.

* * *

><p><em>Brother.<em>

_Brother, where are you?_

_Are you there, Brother?_

_Why do our voices not reach you?_

_Brother._

_Find us._

_Find us._


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Again, a big thank you to everyone who read, faved, alerted, and reviewed. Thank you so much guys-you're the reason I'm updating this on the exact day I returned from holidays. If it hadn't been for your encouragement, you would've probably waited at least another week for this. =]  
><strong>

**_ATTENTION!_ **The extras collection is up and running, you will find it under the name _The Antebellum Mosaic: Fragments_.

**Knight: Thank you so much for asking, and yes, you may borrow my ideas for your own story. I'm honored that you think so highly of Antebellum. Peace and long life. (I'd do the Vulcan salute too, but my fingers just don't move that way, unfortunately...anyway, I hope I replied to that right...)**

**Ka: Your links still aren't working... =(  
><strong>

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds_  
>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

* * *

><p>Skip could easily recall the first time he saw Altor. The Alpha had been wandering around, looking at everything with what appeared to be curiosity. It was hard to tell because the mech was...lifeless. He did absolutely nothing with his energy signature, his voice was a flat monotone, and no emotion showed through his visor and face mask. At that time, Skip had cautiously approached and asked if he could help the Alpha, expecting something along the lines of a job order, but what he got was the exact opposite.<p>

"I'm looking for a job."

Looking.

For a job.

Not looking for someone to do a job, looking _for _a job.

"...You...want to work here?" Dread had filled his tanks. It wasn't the first time a higher up had come down to the docks for work as a bet or something along those lines, but he'd had the feeling that wasn't what this mech was here for. Upon getting the affirmative, he'd hunted down Loader and Rundig, the owners of the company, and left them to deal with Altor. Of course, he knew they would-no matter how grudgingly-let the mech work at the docks. They didn't have a choice. An Alpha could easily crush their business and destroy their reputation with a few words.

So, the Alpha was hired as a cargo loader.

And they'd all sat back and waited to see what the damages would be.

But Altor surprised them...and confused them. Not only was he working with Deltas, he was working _like_ a Delta and treated his coworkers as equals. Furthermore, he was respectful to his Delta supervisors, and as glitchy and strange as the mech appeared, he hauled his own weight and then some.

There was no doubt that Altor was the strangest mech they'd ever met, but it was hard not to hold him in some respect for his work ethic and politeness. Well, he was polite in a distant sense...it's hard to hold a conversation with a bot that doesn't have a single reaction to anything you say other than the flat base line of what comes out of his vocalizer. Altor was strange, intimidating, and crazy, and no one wanted to get close to him.

One day he'd even shown up to work with a sparkling hanging from some strange contraption on his back. Again, Loader and Rundig had let him have his way with the meaningless stipulation that the sparkling not affect his work. Even if it had, there was no way they could do anything to punish the mech.

Skip had snapped a strut falling badly, which resulted in him being taken to the medics, and reluctantly but with the logic that it was best to not upset the Alpha, had appointed Altor as his temporary replacement, instructing one of the other supervisors to keep an eye on him. He'd expected to return to find everything in chaos, with severe losses, but he'd returned to find everything in order and a possible solution to the resident problem: Boltbreaker's sense of (or lack of it, rather) direction.

That had sort of endeared the Alpha to him, and he'd decided to take the mech out for the cube he'd half-jokingly promised when it worked, as well as let the bot handle the shipment of Praxian crystal. Of course, he'd found Altor's reaction a bit odd-like he'd never even handled a piece of Praxian crystal before which was something that an Alpha like him normally would've done frequently...

But going out for a cube with Altor and his sparkling, Soundwave, was a rather intimidating thought. The mech was probably used to much higher standards of Energon after all, so he'd called in reinforcements, three of his friends from the traveling entertainment troop Captivation, Fliprun, Zagzip, and Zipzag, to make things a little easier on himself. (Many servos makes for a lighter load.)

They hadn't liked him on principle. Altor was an Alpha, who would no doubt look down on them, but the initial impression had been a bit different than what they'd expected, so they hadn't known how to act around him. Like Skip they also found him confusing and intimidating. (Although he had started to use his energy signature and nuances more.)

And then came time to order Energon.

And suddenly they all gained a new understanding of Altor.

Judging from what he said about his creator, the mech probably wouldn't have socialized much, and might not have even received basic knowledge packets when he upgraded frames from a sparkling to a youngling to an adult. If Altor didn't even know his own language or cultural nuances, no wonder he seemed so glitchy. His creator had probably screened everything that he downloaded and filtered out all the 'superfluous' things.

It made him wonder if Altor had gotten a job at the docks to get away from his creator-after all, what Alpha would think to look in the Delta working sector for another Alpha?

Altor suddenly seemed a lot more approachable now, and less like a ticking time bomb.

* * *

><p>There was a very distinct change in his coworkers attitudes towards him after that 'after work drinks' thing with Skip and the entertainer trio. He couldn't quite but his finger on it, but it was like they weren't as distant anymore. They seemed...more open and less...reserved.<p>

Sam frowned at the crates he was loading. It was as if...he'd cracked through a barrier he hadn't known was there, somehow. He was actually getting casually friendly greetings now instead of the stiff, almost out of sheer duty 'salutes' he'd gotten before. His coworkers were _willing_ to interact with him, and it kind of stung because he hadn't realized how excluded he'd been before.

Not that it wasn't a welcome change, of course, he just wished he knew what he'd done to make them like him. Surely it couldn't have been the Energon...?

...Unless...

But his coworkers _had_ been acting a bit odd...

Some of the hostile looks he'd seen shot his way had turned into sympathetic ones.

_'I don't _mind_ it, but I really, really, really wish I knew what was going on...'_

It was just the bots he interacted with regularly on his shift, but still...

_'I'm starting to get a head-processorache. Why now? Of all the times, why now? I've been working here for...a long time now, actually...and_ now_ they've decided to be friendly?'_

"Altor?"

He glanced up to see Boltbreaker staring at him worriedly. "Yeah?"

"Are you alright? 'Cause, um, you seem kinda...uh..."

Sam mustered a 'smile' and sent it his way. "I'm fine. But thanks for asking." _For your concern._

"-?"

"...What?"

"Do you needamedic?"

_'Do I look that bad?' _"...I'm fine, Boltbreaker, really." Searching for a way to distract the mech, he spotted the crate the other was hauling. "Isn't that supposed to be on the Polyhex shuttle that's leaving in 1.2 breems?"

Boltebreaker's optics widened in alarm. "!"

"Wrong way, Boltbreaker!" Sam shook his head as Boltbreaker abruptly wheeled around in mid-stride and continued his frantic charge in the direction of the shuttle. "...Speaking of work, I should probably get back to my own job..." he remarked to Soundwave's general hearing range. It was great carrying around Soundwave on his back-he could talk to himself and everyone would think he was talking to his sparkling. "And I should probably...just not think about this. Whatever _this_ is. I honestly don't think I'll figure it out right now anyway. Right, now this crate goes to Merchant Delivery Shuttle Simfur Lakalakalan 14-10...what kind of a weird designation is that?!"

* * *

><p><em>AN: And there you have it-Skip's POV, an explanation for how his coworkers see him, and Sam's subsequent confusion. Poor Sam, he has no idea what kind of wild rumours are running around his work right now...<em>

_And as for why Boltbreaker was so concerned...picture this: you can't see someone's expression, but you can practically see the stress rolling off of them in waves...and also this person is making strange growling, grumbling, and muttering noises sporadically. Add this to Sam's reputation for being rather glitchy, and what do you get? In Boltbreaker's optics, a possible melted processor. Which is very serious, comparable to a brain injury on Cybertron.  
><em>


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Thanks to everyone who stuck it out and continued to read, review, fav, and alert. A special mention to T.T and Ka. **I also have a challenge from T.T to write a Kagome and a Hobbit (movie) crossover, but since I'm not familiar with either of those I'm passing the challenge along if anyone else is inspired.** Also, I'm going to be evil in this chapter, and I sincerely apologize. ^^ I know it took me forever to update, and I'm sorry that it's so short...again. I'm trying, I really am. But the story isn't cooperating with me! It dislikes long chapters, apparently...  
><strong>

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds_  
>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

* * *

><p>It was a stressed and worn out Sam that got off shift. Despite his attempts at not thinking about it, he still ended up thinking about it, and had gotten himself a processorache. He knew his mood was affecting Soundwave too, but he couldn't bring himself to cheer up, so the sparkling quickly became rather irritable and their game of Focus started slipping. Sam shuttered his optics, wishing, not for the first time, that he had a human face. Or at least a more human-like nose...olfactory sensor, he reminded himself sternly.<p>

As always, leaving the Delta Sector and entering the Iacon Gamma Sector was a shock to the senses. The differences between the two sectors was astounding-it was like entering a completely different world. Delta was cleaner, obviously maintained better, more like the average low-income neighborhoods on Earth, and Gamma was like a village from a war zone in a third world country that had been turned into a garbage dump.

The two sectors were separated by gates in all the entry points. The bigger, more popular gates that were used by the upper classes to visit the slums for cheap Energon and entertainment, were guarded by Enforcers. The smaller, more obscure and out of the way gates had next to no security. Despite that, it was a rare kind of Gamma that would leave the sector. If a Gamma was found out of bounds, the Enforcers were called. And the Enforcers did not treat wayward Gammas kindly. Some gates were built into support pillars, accessed by a lift of sorts, some were through buildings, some were staircases of sorts. Others just seamlessly melted the Gamma Sector into the Delta Sector. Cybertron was a labyrinth of bridges, passages, tunnels, pillars, buildings, towers, stairs, and ramps, one level built on top of another on top of the next. The Gamma level rarely saw the sky.

A servo latched onto his arm, yanking him out of his internal steaming.

"Jvanna buyzom red looper?"

Sam stopped and pinned the bot with a glare. He had no idea what 'red looper' was, but he knew he most definitely did not want to buy it. Especially not from a femme that looked high. "No," he bit out. "Now kindly remove your personage from mine."

A slow optic shutter. She had three optics. One of them was cracked. "Jydunno vathat meansss...jyvanna red looper. Red looper makezit all go avay. Like circuit circulz." She giggled. "Jygot red looper, zveetzpark, come'n 'ave zome. It'll makeit feel _good_."

Sam gripped her servo and pried her digits off before practically tossing her aside and stalking away. "I like my br-processor unscrambled, thank you very much!" he snapped over his shoulder, the 'educational' video he'd had to watch once upon a time coming to mind. _This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs._ Even if she wasn't selling drugs, and it sure sounded like it, he still didn't want it. Whatever it was. He had enough problems already without a melted processor.

Her high-pitched giggle ran out behind him as he left. "Jygonna vannit soon."

Barely two streets and one breem later, he was accosted yet again. This time it meant he doubled over in pain, both servos clutching at his helm as the Allspark screamed through his mind like a thousand sirens going off all at the same time with the same pulsing sensation of indescribable, gut wrenching alarm. And behind it, crushing Soundwave's wails as their bond flooded over, was a terrified plea._  
><em>

_Primus, save me!_

* * *

><p>Magnesia had grown up all her life serving as a Dedicate in the Allspark temple. The underground temple, that is. That cold, brutal life was all she'd known and all she ever wanted to know. Let the pretentious up-dwellers have their grand ceremonies and luxurious living. The Kiandron Dedicates needed nothing more than to protect the Allspark. This was their reward, this was everything they trained for. Life as a Kiandron Dedicate was hard. Brutal. Unforgiving. But it was <em>so<em> worth it.

They protected the Allspark. The Allspark protected them.

Magnesia was one of the lucky ones. She'd been sparked in Kaon, and while her carrier was a pleasurebot, her mercenary creator had held ties to Kiandron. Barely an orn after his deactivation, she'd been approached, just in her fourth frame, and offered Initiation. The Allspark had seen something in her. She didn't know what, but it was there and after her first taste of the Kiandron life she'd taken to it like she'd been sparked into it.

Now she waited, so far from home base, spark pulsing wildly in her chassis as she waited for her target to make a move. It wasn't her first solo mission, but despite the monotony of trailing a suspected illegal trader, it managed to make her Energon thrum in her lines with excitement.

Her optics refocused as she realized she'd lost track of her target.

She was just a nano-klik too late as an Energon blade slammed through her lower chassis.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice you? You really are a fool."

* * *

><p><em>And the world explodes in black static.<em>


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Thank you for sticking with me through that last chapter. I know it was horrible, and I apologize. I honestly meant to get this up sooner, but I just didn't have the time. Once again, HUGE thank you to everyone who read, faved, followed, and reviewed.****  
><strong>

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds_  
>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

* * *

><p>The problem with having the Allspark in your human mind was that the Allspark didn't quite understand the human mentality. The Allspark, Sam realized, was operating on the idea that Sam was part of it. It wasn't teaching him anything, it was merely recalling information.<p>

This, as Sam now knew, made things really difficult when the Allspark wanted him to do something but thought he should already know what it was when he had no clue.

Like now.

Every single sensor was telling him he was immersed in black static. He couldn't hear Soundwave through his audios or through the bond, he couldn't even sense the sparkling. This should have made him panic.

Some part of him _was_ panicking.

The rest of him had tuned, perfectly calm, to the blaring klaxon that was the Allspark's presence. _Tell me where I need to go._

A blue line suddenly flickered into his vision, like a 3D version of GPS. The line was pulsing rapidly, like a frantic heartbeat. _Follow._

He started to take a step but stopped, the protector part of him recalling Soundwave's agonized wails. He would _not_ leave his sparkling.

_Give me back my bond with Soundwave first._

Their bond snapped back abruptly, appearing through the static like a purple rope that disappeared into his chest plates. He felt Soundwave quieten and sent out a reassuring pulse to the sparkling, receiving a fierce mental hug in response.

**_FOLLOW._**

_I am._

The line led him on a blind chase through many twists and turns, climbing up and over things, leading him deeper and deeper into the heart of the Gamma Sector. He didn't know how he knew that, it was merely instinctive knowledge, nor did he know how long it took to get there, to the spark on the other end of the line.

A spark that was rapidly fading.

* * *

><p><em>'I don't want to terminate.'<em> The thought struck her with agonizing clarity as she futilely clawed at the Energon blade, trying to keep him from pulling it out. If he pulled it out she was- _'I don't want to. I want to live. I haven't even _done_ anything with my life yet. Primus, Allspark, I want to live! Somebody save me!'_

"Did you honestly think I would let you get away, to run back to those smelt-rejects and blabber all my activities? But I won't offline you...yet. I think I'll have some _fun_."

Magnesia had all of a nano-klik to realize what he meant before he ripped her data ports open and slammed his cables in, initiating a hardline processor hack. She'd heard stories of how painful a forced connection could be, but this-he was tearing through her firewalls like they weren't even there, aiming for her memory core.

He was going to wipe her memory core.

In that instant she forgot every gigabyte of training she'd ever received and threw everything into panicking.

_'Primus, save me!'_

* * *

><p>Soundwave was scared. He knew Creator was right there, still holding him, but for a while Creator had disappeared, and the pain was back. The pain was back and it was so <em>loud<em>. But then Creator was back-distant, but back-and the pain was gone. There was a lot of pain.

The pain wasn't supposed to be there anymore.

Creator made the pain go away. But...

_Creator hurt? _He glared at the blazing mass in his Creator's processors and sent it an irritated poke. _Hurt bad. No more hurt._

_**Urgent**._

Soundwave poked at it again with a fierce scowl. _BAD._

**_Urgent._**

_Stop hurt.  
><em>

_**URGEN****T.**_

Soundwave paused for a moment before countering with all his logic. _Creator play Focus better when no hurt. Hurt bad. Hurt hurting Creator. Hurt Creator no play Focus._

**_...Conceding point_. _Pain impedes processing capabilities._**

The blazing mass subsided a little and he felt a rush of gratitude from Creator. Now content, Soundwave cuddled in closer through the bond and drifted off into a light recharge, a bit smug that he'd won that argument.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Thank you for your patience, and encouragement.****  
><strong>

**Also I would like to note that, while it may take forever to update, I have absolutely NO plans to abandon ANY of my stories, and if I ever should decide to lay one to rest I will let you know on my profile.**

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds_  
>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

_Degavorn - _1,900,000 years

* * *

><p><em>"We swore never to take a life giving sun! What do you call those organics there? They are alive, and furthermore they are sentient beings!"<em>

_"These scrap bits, these oozing sacks of organic slime are hardly worth the title "life forms". They run around as glitch-bytes, hardly able to comprehend anything beyond their pathetic state. This star will feed the Allspark for millions of degavorns, and they will be out of their misery!"_

_"Millions? Brother, this star would only feed the Allspark for a hundred degavorns-if that."_

_"The Harvester is already built."_

_"We will destroy it, then."_

_"And hide its remains."_

_"Uphold our oath, brother."_

_"Is that how it is?"_

**_Fools!_**

* * *

><p>Sam felt them before he saw them, before the line connected with a solid metal frame and a wavering spark, and it was instinct more than the Allspark's urgings that brought his sword into play as he jumped down to their level. The fact that he was fighting blind never occurred to him as proximity and danger warnings flashed across his vision, cuing him to counter and parry the one armed bot who was now on the defensive.<p>

His head felt numb.

The fight lasted for all of nine nano-kliks and felt like it lasted forever, and then the bot's torso was peeling apart like a banana.

_**URGENT!**_

Sam whirled around to look at the spark which, according to the scanners he never knew he had, was going into shock. Not that his scans were very _useful _considering he could see absolutely nothing else. '_Give me back my vision then so I can FIX this, you idiotic-'_

He had his vision back. And sincerely wished he hadn't.

The arm of the mech, still wrapped around the Energon blade sticking through the femme's (at least he was assuming it was a femme) stomach/rib cage area, was now dangling limply from her back. He ignored the pile of parts, sparking circuits, and leaking Energon that was her attacker and focused inward, poking at the blazing mass.

_'Okay, this isn't something I can fix. Alone.'_

**Irritation.**

Then everything went blue.

* * *

><p>Blue.<p>

Not static?

Sam blinked again, only to find he was kneeling by the femme and both of them were surrounded by a warm blue glow. Furthermore, her systems were repairing themselves, metal growing back to metal, bridging the gaps of injury. The Energon blade, arm, and cables (why hadn't he noticed the cables earlier?) were being summarily rejected. _'Oh. This must be the Allspark power?'_ He blinked again. _'Nope. That's my spark field.'_

Not that he knew what that meant, but he knew that was what it was.

Apparently his spark field was jump starting her systems like a booster cable. It was...decidedly odd. And-

_'I should probably get out of here-wherever here is-before Enforcers arrive or someone else stumbles upon this mess.' _He grimaced as he eyed the femme. Opticed? Opticed the femme? No, eyed sounded better. _'Okay, let's get this show on the road. -You alright Soundwave?'_

_Content._

He really sucked at this being a parent thing. What kind of parent goes flying into battle with a kid strapped to their back? He could have gotten Soundwave _killed_-no, this was no time for a panic attack. Time to think logically. He was lost, so... _'Okay, Allspark, I kind of need a GPS _back _the way I came.'_

The line pulsed back into sight, the Allspark feeling strangely miffed and smug when he cautiously scooped the femme up in a bridal carry (that sounded so strange), but at this point he didn't really care about what the stupid Cube thought. After making a few adjustments so he wasn't touching any still healing system, Sam began to slowly make his way back to his place, following the lovely little non-static surrounded blue line. Except it was green this time. Why was it green?

And, oh look, his spark field had stopped spark field projecting.

_'This better be a short trip back, or I'm going to keel over at this point.'_

**_Smug._**

* * *

><p><em>You gave<em>_ me wings. Now teach me how to fly._

* * *

><p><em>"Long ago, before Cybertron became the great planet-city that it is today, there existed the Thirteen...The Dynasty of Primes, the great rulers who helped lay the foundations for our race-"<em>

_"Are they still online?" his youngling asked curiously, leaning over his arm rather precariously to look at the small hologram._

_"No." He reached over to adjust the little one's position, tucking him under his arm. "The Thirteen terminated many degavorns ago."_

_"Wow."_

_"Would you like me to continue the story now?"_

_"Yes please!"_

_"They were among the first to be sparked from the Allspark. Following them were the Seekers-"_

_"Like Carrier!"_

_"Yes, like Klikbite. The Seekers were created to find fuel for the Star Harvesters. The Seekers would find suitable stars, stars that gave no life to their systems, and the Thirteen would follow to build the Star Harvesters-"_

_"Are there any Primes at all online now?"_

_He gave up. "One. Sentinel Prime." His faceplates twisted in an expression of disgust. "But he is a selfish mech and cares little for the duties a Prime is supposed to carry out. He leaves much of the ruling of Cybertron to the Council."_

_"And the Council is yucky."_

_"Yes, dearspark. The Council is yucky."_

_"How come there aren't any other Primes?"_

_"Who knows?" His gaze traveled to the distant stars and he unconsciously held his creation closer. "But perhaps Primus will bless us once more."_

_"Carrier doesn't believe in Primus."_

_"Klikbite is bitter, youngling. Bitter and tired. We all are. Now, go recharge. You'll need your energy for tomorrow."_

_"Awww."_

_"No protests."_

_"...Fine."_

_"Have an easy recharge, dearspark. May your data-recalls be pleasant."_

_"You too, Creator."_


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Thank you for your patience, and encouragement.****  
><strong>

**Also I would like to note that, while it may take forever to update, I have absolutely NO plans to abandon ANY of my stories, and if I ever should decide to lay one to rest I will let you know on my profile.**

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds_  
>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

_Degavorn - _1,900,000 years

AN: **Bold writing **means he's speaking English.

* * *

><p>The first thing Magnesia registered when she started to online were the glyphs scrolling across her vision-a system diagnostic report. Several lines caught her attention.<p>

_Energon levels: 64 percent_

_Main memory core status: 100 percent_

_Warning: 0.953 percent memory files corrupted._

_Secondary memory core status: 99.999 percent._

_Main Energon pump status: 89 percent_

_Automatic system repair: online, system repairs 84 percent complete_

_External repairs: secondary source: in progress_

Somebot was repairing her. And it wasn't a spark signature she recognized. Her optics snapped on, and she started to lurch upright, but a strong servo snapped down on her shoulder and pinned her to the berth.

"Hey! Watch it, I nearly severed your fuel line again! Well, not again as in I severed it in the first place-but still, that was really stup-"

"Where am I?" she snarled, fighting a line of static running through her vision and finally focusing on the bot leaning over her.

"Okay, look, if you want to terminate, by all means, continue to strain your plates. Please just...relax."

She eased back slightly, sensing the truth, but maintained her hostile signature. "Where. Am. I?"

"Gamma district of Iacon, Quarter Zetax9-05563, in my house, on my recharge berth. My designation is Altor, okay? I found you and brought you here and I'm _trying _to fix you as much as I'm capable, but you're not really helping." The visored mech glared down at her. "Seriously."

There was a questioning chirp from the corner.

"Not right now, Soundwave, I'm busy."

Another chirp.

"What? No. No more funny blue light shows." The mech turned to look at the corner, where she finally realized a sparkling was sitting playing with an empty Energon cube. "And no more **he**-processor aches either." Her optics shuttered at the strange glitch in his words. "...Soundwave. Stop that."

The last thing she remembered was her target preparing to wipe her memory core, but... "You _found _me?" He'd saved her? What happened to her target?

"Well, yeah."

"...And you just randomly decided to take me back to your berth and repair me?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of."

The visored, masked mech rocked back on his peds. "It was more like I was low on options."

Magnesia looked at him in suspicion. "You saved my life?"

"...I...had some help?"

Her denta clenched. "I owe you a spark debt, then."

"No," he snapped. "No absolutely not. I don't do spark debts. No. Just, seriously, no."

"I can't pay you with credits," she snapped back, trying to struggle upright again. "If you think-"

He grabbed her shoulders and held her down again. "No! For the love of-look, seriously, I did not save you for any sort of reward, **okay?** I saved you because I had to and you owe me _nothing_. Not credits, not favors, not spark debts, _nothing_." He let her go to run one servo over his helm, frame suddenly drooping with weariness. "Just...honestly...I was doing my job. That's all."

"...Your job."

"Hero complex. Just leave it alone, alright? And don't sit up too fast, you'll strain your plating."

Her denta clenched again. This mech was entirely glitched, but "I still owe you. My honor, my code of life, will not let me see this unpaid. Is there _something _I can give you that you would accept?"

There was a long pause before his gaze turned back to her, oddly hesitant but a far cry from the bristling irritation he was earlier. "Well...actually, there _might _be something..."

"Tell me what it is."

After another moment of hesitation his back plates abruptly began transforming, unfolding into a pair of jet wings and also a slim tail with a scythe like hook at the end of it. "Can you teach me how to use these?"

Her processors stalled. "...What?"

"To...you know...fly."

"You're a jet model and you don't know how to fly?"

"Well, I mean, I can fly, but it's mostly crashing and stuff..." he looked to the side and muttered, "not that my ability to drive is any better..."

"...Let me get this straight. You're a jet model that can't fly and apparently can't drive either. What do you do, walk everywhere?"

"..."

"..."

"No one ever told me how this stuff works, **okay?** I don't know how to drive or fly or even walk half the time! I have a sword I swing at **people **and hope it lands a hit, I have **the Allspark in my head and-"**

Magnesia had no idea how to react as he trailed off into a tangent of what appeared to be a language malfunction, spewing out nonsense sounds. She was beginning to think that this mech had more issues than just a few glitches. "Did you download _any _of the basic sparkling upgrade packages?"

He stopped abruptly, servos still frozen part mad wave through the air. "...The what?'

"Did your creators ever take you to a medic to get basic upgrade packages when you upgraded your frame?"

"...Uh..."

Unbelievable. Even the Kiandron Dedicates had ensured every new recruit had basic programming. To not know any of this...

"When you found me, you _carried _me all the way here?"

He seemed a little thrown by the sudden topic change. "Yes."

"Where was Zeenus?"

"...Who?"

"The mech who attacked me."

"...Dead."

"He was dead when you found me?"

"No, I killed him when I found you."

"...You killed him."

"Very easy to do when you have a sharp sword and his is still stuck through somebots chassis." The mech-Altor-cringed. "Err..."

"You killed him and you don't know how to use a sword."

"...Basically? Yeah."

If any of the Dedicates found out about this, she would never be able to show her face again. "I will train you. Somehow, I will train you."

His energy signature flared in part surprise, part gratitude before settling back into the almost dead, emotionless state it had been in before. "Great! Thanks. Now can I finish welding you back together?"

* * *

><p><em>Brother?<em>


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Thank you for your patience, and encouragement. My apologies for how short this is, but I wanted to give you SOMETHING before I left on vacation and I thought a short something was better than nothing at all...****  
><strong>

**Also I would like to note that, while it may take forever to update, I have absolutely NO plans to abandon ANY of my stories, and if I ever should decide to lay one to rest I will let you know on my profile.**

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds_  
>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

_Degavorn - _1,900,000 years

AN: **Bold writing **means he's speaking English.

* * *

><p>This mech was glitched. <em>Glitched<em>.

There was no way a bot could possibly be that-

**"Coo-che-coo-che-coo!"**

Soundwave stared in confusion at the finger poking his midsection. _'No, scrap that. The mech is-" _"-Fragmented."

"What?"

"What _are _you doing?"

"Uh..." Altor looked at the sparkling, then suddenly his energy signature, which had been absolutely dead a nano-klik ago, flared with embarrassment. "Nothing. You know, just, uh, havin' a conversation. Oh hey, you're up! You **passed ou**-err, you offlined while I was finishing weld-you want some Energon? I've got...mid-grade." Bouncing back from the cabinet he dangled the cube in front of her. "Mid-grade is so **totally**-" He all but dropped it in her servos and snatched the sparkling from the floor, setting him in a strange contraption that he then slung over his back. "I'm going to be late for work! I forgot I was partial covering that bot **dude's **shift! I'll be back later, if any bots stop by tell them something!"

Magnesia took a deep intake as the door shut. "Glitched."

She'd been in the mech's housing unit for two mega-cycles, and the more she saw of him the more she was convinced that there was something deeply wrong with his programming. The way his vocalizer would fritz and spew out horrendous unnatural sounds, the way he seemed to forget-_forget!_-how to communicate with anything other than his vocalizer, the way he acted...it was like a fragmented Gamma in an Alpha's frame. Somebot had obviously taken great care to design his frame, but his processors...

_'I have to train him as quickly as possible and get him to base. This is something _they _need to deal with.' _She frowned. _'And how did he manage to repair me if he barely knows his own anatomy?' _ She gingerly pulled herself into an upright position and grasped the cube he'd offered. Regardless of his suspicious behavior, his mid-grade was far better than anything she could afford, and if training him meant getting more of the stuff, she'd happily oblige.

* * *

><p><em>"Buyzom red looper, make y'feel <em>good_."_

_"Jygonna vannit soon."_

_"Prowlie? Prowlie, stay with me. Stay with me, mech."_

_"Ja...zzz. You...came."_

_"Of course ah came, Prowler."_

_"I thought...I wouldn't see you."_

_"Nono, Prowlie, stay with me. Ya gotta stay with me. Ratch is comin' soon, Prowlie-"_

_"Jzz."_

_"Prowl!"_

_"Looper."_

_"Let me tell you a story..."_

_"Brothermine?"_

_"Sparks-"_

_"Praxus has fallen, Lord Megatron."_

_"Good."_

Sam's intakes restarted with a heavy grind as he found himself staring at the crate he was carrying, ped still half lifted in a frozen gesture. Purple haze crowded around his vision for a moment before he blinked it away. He'd never had a memory recall at work before. The idea that work was a safe haven, a place to take his mind off of his panic attacks and visions, was destroyed.

_"Prime. I couldn't save them."_

_Shoulders heavy with guilt and sorrow turned in his direction. "You tried."_

_"I won't be able to fix Smokescreen either. The damage to his processors-"_

_"We're losing the war, Ratchet."_

_Would you change this? Would you change the past, at the cost of the future?_

"No sacrifice, no victory."

_Save them._

"I will."

_I just don't know how._

* * *

><p>Altor was restless and grim when he returned from work. Magnesia's attention fully rested on him as he came to stand in front of her, visor and battle mask engaged, and said perhaps one of the last things she was expecting.<p>

"I need to get to Praxus."

"Praxus? What's in Praxus?"

"Answers."

His grim determination silenced her momentarily. "Praxus is on the other side of the planet. If you want to get there anytime soon, you'll have to use your alt-mode."

"Something you agreed to teach me."

"I did." She weighted her words with a measured stare. "So you'd better find a good place to learn."


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Thank you again for all your support.  
><strong>

**T.T, my favorite animal is pretty much anything, but I've got two cats and I love them to bits, so I guess you could say cats.**

_Nano-second/astrosecond_ - .498 seconds_  
>Nano-klik<em> - 1 second_  
>Klik<em> - 1.2 minutes_  
>Breem<em> - 8.3 minutes_  
>Cycle<em> - 1 hour and 15 minutes_  
>Joor<em> - 6.5 hours_  
>Mega-cycle<em> - 1 day_  
>Orn<em> - 13 days_  
>Deca-cycle<em> - 3 weeks_  
>Meta-cycle<em> - 13 months_  
>Vorn<em> - 83 years

_Degavorn - _1,900,000 years

AN: **Bold writing **means he's speaking English.

* * *

><p><em>"The Gammas are starting to become a problem, Sentinel."<em>

_"Those rust buckets on the Council don't seem to agree with you."_

_"A few of them do. I'm sure I could get more support for the movement..."_

_"Sentinel?"_

_He's sulking again._

_"_I _am Prime! The Council should listen to _me_."_

_This again._

_"Perhaps if you actually did something about all the scrap running around below the surface they wouldn't question you so much."_

_Highly unlikely._

_"The only thing that will get rid of them is a full scale extermination."_

_"The Council would approve, I'm _sure_."_

_Silence, fool. "Then why not exterminate them?"_

_"I have an image to keep up. I can't just randomly go out and order citizens put to death."_

_What image?_

_"...But if they started an uprising...?"_

_"Then I suppose I could deign to send a few of my loyal troops out to quell them. For the protection of Cybertron, of course."_

_"And the smelting pools?"_

_"What about them?"_

_**Patience**. "Have we gotten anywhere close to initiating the plans?"_

_"The Council is still blocking approval. I shouldn't _need _approval. I am the Prime!"  
><em>

_"The last Prime."_

* * *

><p>Falling. He was falling. <em>-Sinking into the abyss, cold corpse circuits flooding with water, the sea engulfing his spark-<em> _**Impact**._

"Altor?"

_Warmth?_

Sam dazedly took in his surroundings, a sparkling-_his sparkling?_-keening softly in distress, a body leaning over him, soft warm light bathing his cold fram-_sparkling?_

_Soundwave._

Sam surged to his feet-_peds?_-and forgot how to walk on alien legs. _**Soundwave?**_

"Whoa! Whoa! Easy, Altor! Calm down!"

_More warmth? Warmth coming from-_

**_Soundwave? Soundwave!_**

"I can't understand you, Altor. You glitched, alright? You tried to transform into alt-mode and you glitched. I need you to calm down and focus on my spark field, alright? Altor. Listen to me. Focus. I need you to focus-"

_"We're going to play a game."_

Sam's intakes seized and restarted with a painful groan "Magnesia?"

"Oh thank Primus. There we go, Altor, easy."

She was bracing him with her chassis against his and her arms around his shoulders, braced to take his weight where he'd collapsed against her. He finally focused on her face as she helped him slide into a kneeling position. "I...had a panic attack."

"Yeah, Altor, you panicked. It went well for the first nano-klik, but then you completely glitched. What _happened_?"

Sam looked at her blankly before his gaze slid over to Soundwave, who'd quieted now that the bond was settled again. "The first time I transformed...the first time I ever transformed...I'd crashed." He could clearly remember the impact of hitting Cybertron. "I was falling and I crashed and then I had to...find..._safe._ I had to find safe."

Why was everything so muted?

"Altor...c'mon big guy, up. Up. We're going to try again. You're safe, alright? I've got you. We're going to try again."

He huffed into her shoulder wishing not for the first time that his face could actually smile. "Yeah. Yeah, **okay**."

* * *

><p>Everything had been going so well. They'd left Altor's place three joors ago, Soundwave in tow, and found an open, clear area with very little to crash into. Magnesia had gone over the theory of transforming with him, demonstrated, even linked with him to show him how it felt from her own memory banks, and showed him which codes to trigger to actually manage the act. It took a bit, but he transformed into a fancy looking alt. He was good for all of one nano-klik before his energy signature went completely dead. Soundwave started keening as Altor rapidly reversed the transformation.<p>

The mech wouldn't respond to her. Whatever had happened, he collapsed on all fours and if she couldn't sense his spark signature still she would've thought he'd offlined. Half panicked herself, Magnesia did the only thing she could think of. She hacked into her carrying programming and accessed her sparkling protection protocols. Nano-seconds later she was flooding his frame with her spark field, standard tactic for calming threatened sparklings.

"Altor?"

The next moment he was on his peds, scrambling and falling and failing to stay upright, and made the most plaintive, spark wrenching sound she'd ever heard. Without a second thought she lunged forward and grabbed him. "Whoa! Whoa! Easy, Altor! Calm down!" This wasn't working. He made more of those horrible sounds, so _alien_- She didn't know what to do. Hopefully he would respond to being spark surrounded, but if he'd been- "I can't understand you, Altor. You glitched, alright? You tried to transform into alt-mode and you glitched. I need you to calm down and focus on my spark field, alright? Altor. Listen to me. Focus. I need you to focus-"

She saw the instant he came back, collapsing against her with a heavy restart of intakes.

"Magnesia?"

"Oh thank Primus." He'd come back. Now if he'd avoided getting processor damage, that would be something. "There we go, Altor, easy." She positioned her chassis closer against his to better spark shield him as they clumsily dropped into a kneeling position.

"I...had a panic attack." He sounded extremely dazed, vocalizer lagging slightly.

A panic attack was a bit of an understatement. "Yeah, Altor, you panicked. It went well for the first nano-klik, but then you completely glitched." She glared at him worriedly. "What _happened_?"

"The first time I transformed...the first time I ever transformed..." Magnesia had a bad feeling about how this sentence was going to end. "I'd crashed. I was falling and I crashed and then I had to...find..._safe._ I had to find safe."

The fact that he wasn't using any nuance whatsoever just made it all the more painful to hear. Altor was running from something. And she...she'd made a promise. "Altor," for a moment she hesitated, "c'mon big guy, up. Up." She patted the back of his helm. "We're going to try again." 'Without the glitching meltdown.' "You're safe, alright? I've got you. We're going to try again."

He was going to transform. He was going to transform and fly and do everything else.

Like a normal mech.

But part of her just wanted to scoop him up and hide him in the nearest dark corner and protect-

'Stupid carrier protocols.'

* * *

><p>"Alright," Magnesia started, "We're going to do this very slowly. One piece at a time. My servo is going to be on you the entire time and I will catch you if anything happens."<p>

Sam winced at the memory of _cold _before giving her a thumbs up (and wincing again at the distinctly human gesture) and accessing his transformation cogs again, tripping the protocols on their slowest setting.

He made it about halfway through before he had to reverse and take a moment to just sit with Magnesia still radiating warmth like some kind of space heater. He still didn't know why she was doing that. She hadn't mentioned and he hadn't asked. It gave him something to grasp onto when he started panicking, though, so he supposed it was a good thing.

"Again."

He was really starting to hate this transforming business.

* * *

><p>It wasn't working. Magnesia was just as frustrated as he was. Every single time, despite the fact that he sometimes made it into a full transformation, he'd come flying right back out in a panic, assaulted by a deluge of memories-memories of his fall and memories from Megatron's empty frame sinking into the depths of the ocean. And he never got used to it. One moment he was fine, the next everything-<p>

"I'm never going to get to Praxus at this rate."

"Well if you would stop glitching this would be easier."

Sam glared at her. "Alright, no. No, no, no no no. That is _not _how it works. I can't just shut off my **brai**-processor and memory. It doesn't work like that. _I _don't work like that. I can't. So no, I can't just stop this "glitching" thing."

She winced and sent an apologetic pulse through her energy signature. "I know. From what it looks like, you're experiencing a heavy-data cascade of memory files that locks you in a feedback loop of some sort. I'm not a medic, so I won't try a diagnostic, but that's the only thing I can think of."

"...So how do we fix that?" Sam asked, scooping up Soundwave to cuddle with him.

She hesitated.

"What?"

"There is one way. I've heard certain fractions use it to bring back a berserker, but it's...slightly invasive."

"What do I have to do?"

"Hardline with me."

"...Hardline?"

"A one-way connection to access your memory files. I'd firewall the memory cascade and insert one of my own memories there. It should work as a temporary fix."

_"I think I'll have some _fun_."_

Sam felt sick at the flash of foreign memory. "Isn't that what Zeenex was doing to you?"

"...You mean Zeenus." Magnesia shifted. "And yes, that's...it wouldn't be the same. I wouldn't force your firewalls."

"...Would you be comfortable with it, though?"

"_I _would be fine. It's you I'm worried about-I mean, if you glitch on me while I'm in your processor-"

"Well there's one way to find out."

* * *

><p><em>"My master, I failed you on Earth. The Allspark is destroyed and without it, our race will perish."<em>

_ "Oh, you much have much to learn, my disciple. The Cube was merely a vessel. It's power, it's knowledge, can never be destroyed. It can only transform."_

**_Click._**

_Haaa. "He comes."  
><em>

_"Who?"_

_"The Prime."_

_..._

_"Sentinel isn't going to come anywhere near here."_

_"Not him. The PRIME."_

_"Sentinel _is_ the Prime."_

_"The _other _Prime! He's coming. I can feel it!"  
><em>

_"...Alright, you need a defragging again, don't you?"_

_"My processor is not rusty!"_

_"Settle down before you crack a strut or something, dearspark. What Prime are you talking about?"_

_"The other one."_

_"...Well that's very helpful."_

**_Click._**


End file.
